The locker rooms were nicer than he expected. More like a casual lounge than a place for employees to stash their stuff. The benches were actually cushioned and there were real, working locks on the lockers. He could hear the soft thrum of bass through the floorboards from the dance floor and clattering from the kitchens that reminded him of Sunday dinners. If he thought about dinner maybe he could ignore the rows of immaculate Ford Mustangs he’d seen parked outside.
“Dean, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this” Shaw hissed at his friend while he tried to wrestle himself into the waiter’s suit.
“Relax Shaw, it’s gonna be fine.” Dean said as he finished lacing up his shoes.
“No it’s not this place is Kulza turf Dean. Kulza! I can’t belie-is this velvet?” Shaw stopped mid rant to run his hands down the waistcoat he’d been buttoning up.
“Think so.”
“Dean what the fuck this probably costs more than my mom’s car!”
“Then don’t spill anything on it!” Dean clapped him on the back and shoved a pair of shoes into his arms. “Really man I’m glad you could help cover Jax’s shift. I owe you.”
“You’re damn right you owe me. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“One word man.” Dean said and started rubbing his fingers in a money sign.
“That’s no words man.”
“Bank man. Major bank. Enough to give you a jump on that college fund I know you’re stashing under your gran’s ficus.”
“Leave Beatrice outta this and let’s get this over with.” The bass had picked up, or maybe it was his heartbeat. A mafia casino was the last place he wanted to be right now. He’d been doing the impossible, steering far away from the mafia until and living a normal life until Dean called in every last favor to drag him here and cover a coworker’s shift.
“Relaaaax.” Dean said and slung his arm over Shaw’s shoulders. “It’s easy. Fill up a tray with snacks, walk around the floor and try to look pretty so you can score some fat tips.”
“Wait, pretty what-” but Dean had already pushed him into the chaos of the kitchens.
- - - -
The casino floor was a cacophony of noise, odor and bodies.There was jazz from the showroom clashing with the bass from the dancefloor and over it all was the constant buzzing of patrons. People moved in herds covered in furs and pearls bouncing from one table to the next, laughing and “oh I just won $300,000!” or “maybe we should try to that table next” over champagne flutes and cocktails. It reeked of overpriced perfume, cigars, shoe shine and the occasional spilt fruity cocktail.
It was taking all 6 years of lacrosse practice to keep Shaw from knocking into the patrons we swerved around their oblivious flocks with trays laden with more liquor than he could ever desire to drink (in fact he was just about sick of cocktails already). So far things hadn’t been too bad, except for tripping on the carpet and almost dropping a plate of shrimp at the beginning of the night. He was still a mess of nerves but at least he didn’t actually have to talk to anyone. He was given orders and just moved food and beverages from one point to another. Pretty simple.
Until an arm smacked him in the face and sent booze and glass shards flying.
“Look at what you’ve done!” the guest shouted, gesturing to his soaked suit. His left glove was soaked and there were splotches of pink cocktail on his grey pinstripe suit.
“I’m sorry sir!”
“If everyone could follow me please, we’ll reconvene at Table 4” the dealer at the table jumped in, corralling the group of patrons towards another table so maintenance could clean up. He gestured for another waiter to come over with a towel and help dry of the offended customer and another to help Shaw.
“I’m so, so sorry” Shaw said to the other waiter, grabbing the offered towel and rubbing frantically at the drenched carpet.
“It wasn’t your fault. Not the first time a customer’s had a bit too much to drink” the waiter said as he knelt down to help.
“Of course that was Istvan Ward though,” another waitress said as she came over with an armful of towels. The boy looked up frantically.
“Istvan Ward!? As in multimillionaire Istvan Ward? I spilled alcohol all over Istvan Ward?!”
“No, Istvan Ward spilled alcohol all over you,” the first waiter said, glaring at the waitress for sending to boy into hysterics. He clearly wasn’t a regular employee, experienced with dealing with the stress of working near high-profile guests. “By tomorrow he won’t remember anything. Now go get yourself cleaned up before the suit starts getting sticky. We can handle things here.”
“I-no I mean I can help.”
“Relax kid” the waitress said, picking him up by the elbow and gently shoving him towards the service door. “We’ve got it from here. Just head on down to the lockers, you do know where those are right?”
“Uh yeah I mean if you’re sure.”
She shooed him towards the door “Absolutely now skedaddle.”
- - - -
His hands were sticky and he could hear his suit and shoes squelch with each step. He smelt like an overripe strawberry and he was never going to eat them again because they would only remind of this disaster.
‘I can’t believe I just spilt a cocktail over the 4th richest man in the Northwest.’ Got spilt on, technically, but that wouldn’t matter if Mr. Ward actually remembered what happened tomorrow morning. Shaw quickly typed out an a recap of what happened to Dean and tried to remember how to get to the lockers or at least the kitchens.
“Was it a left here or a right?” he wondered aloud. All of the hallways looked the same with red velvet carpet, dark hardwood walls and golden chandeliers. Kind of tacky chandeliers to be honest, and they didn’t even work well. He could barely see where he was going. Dean still hadn’t answered his texts but he was probably still on the floor.
“I swear I passed that statue already.” Or there were multiple bronze statues of wild boars lying around the staff side of the casino. With creepy… glowing eyes.
‘It's probably just light reflecting from the chandeliers.’
“Maybe I need to go downstairs? Did I go downstairs before?” He thought so, except there weren’t any stairs anywhere and the hallway seemed to go on forever. ‘Wait a minute’ Shaw thought. For the first time in hours he knew for fact it was his heartbeat he was hearing. Where was the bass? He turned around and ran back but there was only deafening silence. And the same boar statue three times even though he kept running in a straight line.
‘This is crazy’. This wasn’t some crazy haunted house like the ones Dean kept dragging him too or that supernatural bus stop on Bohr street. It was just a normal… mafia casino.
‘The same mafia that vanishes into walls during car chases and own disappearing bars and suped up molotovs and lightning shooting machine guns and get hunted by frigging crucifix wielding police officers. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.’
“Anyone?!” he shouted, running faster. “Is anyone out there!!”
The hallway kept going, no matter how many times he turned.
11 Unread Messages Shaw: guess who just spilt a cocktail all over istvan ward and smells like a rancid strawberry jesus i wrecked the suit Some other waiters are here they said i should get changed headin to the lockers (2:34am) Dean: that sucks man hang on a sec and lemme get rid of this tray and ill help you just stay by the door yo where r u? shaw? dude you didnt leave already did u? dude dont go by yourself Shaw? dude this place doesn’t like strangers SHAW Answer me man shit shit shit shit shit
“Dean, I can’t believe I let you talk me into this” Shaw hissed at his friend while he tried to wrestle himself into the waiter’s suit.
“Relax Shaw, it’s gonna be fine.” Dean said as he finished lacing up his shoes.
“No it’s not this place is Kulza turf Dean. Kulza! I can’t belie-is this velvet?” Shaw stopped mid rant to run his hands down the waistcoat he’d been buttoning up.
“Think so.”
“Dean what the fuck this probably costs more than my mom’s car!”
“Then don’t spill anything on it!” Dean clapped him on the back and shoved a pair of shoes into his arms. “Really man I’m glad you could help cover Jax’s shift. I owe you.”
“You’re damn right you owe me. I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“One word man.” Dean said and started rubbing his fingers in a money sign.
“That’s no words man.”
“Bank man. Major bank. Enough to give you a jump on that college fund I know you’re stashing under your gran’s ficus.”
“Leave Beatrice outta this and let’s get this over with.” The bass had picked up, or maybe it was his heartbeat. A mafia casino was the last place he wanted to be right now. He’d been doing the impossible, steering far away from the mafia until and living a normal life until Dean called in every last favor to drag him here and cover a coworker’s shift.
“Relaaaax.” Dean said and slung his arm over Shaw’s shoulders. “It’s easy. Fill up a tray with snacks, walk around the floor and try to look pretty so you can score some fat tips.”
“Wait, pretty what-” but Dean had already pushed him into the chaos of the kitchens.
- - - -
The casino floor was a cacophony of noise, odor and bodies.There was jazz from the showroom clashing with the bass from the dancefloor and over it all was the constant buzzing of patrons. People moved in herds covered in furs and pearls bouncing from one table to the next, laughing and “oh I just won $300,000!” or “maybe we should try to that table next” over champagne flutes and cocktails. It reeked of overpriced perfume, cigars, shoe shine and the occasional spilt fruity cocktail.
It was taking all 6 years of lacrosse practice to keep Shaw from knocking into the patrons we swerved around their oblivious flocks with trays laden with more liquor than he could ever desire to drink (in fact he was just about sick of cocktails already). So far things hadn’t been too bad, except for tripping on the carpet and almost dropping a plate of shrimp at the beginning of the night. He was still a mess of nerves but at least he didn’t actually have to talk to anyone. He was given orders and just moved food and beverages from one point to another. Pretty simple.
Until an arm smacked him in the face and sent booze and glass shards flying.
“Look at what you’ve done!” the guest shouted, gesturing to his soaked suit. His left glove was soaked and there were splotches of pink cocktail on his grey pinstripe suit.
“I’m sorry sir!”
“If everyone could follow me please, we’ll reconvene at Table 4” the dealer at the table jumped in, corralling the group of patrons towards another table so maintenance could clean up. He gestured for another waiter to come over with a towel and help dry of the offended customer and another to help Shaw.
“I’m so, so sorry” Shaw said to the other waiter, grabbing the offered towel and rubbing frantically at the drenched carpet.
“It wasn’t your fault. Not the first time a customer’s had a bit too much to drink” the waiter said as he knelt down to help.
“Of course that was Istvan Ward though,” another waitress said as she came over with an armful of towels. The boy looked up frantically.
“Istvan Ward!? As in multimillionaire Istvan Ward? I spilled alcohol all over Istvan Ward?!”
“No, Istvan Ward spilled alcohol all over you,” the first waiter said, glaring at the waitress for sending to boy into hysterics. He clearly wasn’t a regular employee, experienced with dealing with the stress of working near high-profile guests. “By tomorrow he won’t remember anything. Now go get yourself cleaned up before the suit starts getting sticky. We can handle things here.”
“I-no I mean I can help.”
“Relax kid” the waitress said, picking him up by the elbow and gently shoving him towards the service door. “We’ve got it from here. Just head on down to the lockers, you do know where those are right?”
“Uh yeah I mean if you’re sure.”
She shooed him towards the door “Absolutely now skedaddle.”
- - - -
His hands were sticky and he could hear his suit and shoes squelch with each step. He smelt like an overripe strawberry and he was never going to eat them again because they would only remind of this disaster.
‘I can’t believe I just spilt a cocktail over the 4th richest man in the Northwest.’ Got spilt on, technically, but that wouldn’t matter if Mr. Ward actually remembered what happened tomorrow morning. Shaw quickly typed out an a recap of what happened to Dean and tried to remember how to get to the lockers or at least the kitchens.
“Was it a left here or a right?” he wondered aloud. All of the hallways looked the same with red velvet carpet, dark hardwood walls and golden chandeliers. Kind of tacky chandeliers to be honest, and they didn’t even work well. He could barely see where he was going. Dean still hadn’t answered his texts but he was probably still on the floor.
“I swear I passed that statue already.” Or there were multiple bronze statues of wild boars lying around the staff side of the casino. With creepy… glowing eyes.
‘It's probably just light reflecting from the chandeliers.’
“Maybe I need to go downstairs? Did I go downstairs before?” He thought so, except there weren’t any stairs anywhere and the hallway seemed to go on forever.
‘Wait a minute’ Shaw thought. For the first time in hours he knew for fact it was his heartbeat he was hearing. Where was the bass? He turned around and ran back but there was only deafening silence. And the same boar statue three times even though he kept running in a straight line.
‘This is crazy’. This wasn’t some crazy haunted house like the ones Dean kept dragging him too or that supernatural bus stop on Bohr street. It was just a normal… mafia casino.
‘The same mafia that vanishes into walls during car chases and own disappearing bars and suped up molotovs and lightning shooting machine guns and get hunted by frigging crucifix wielding police officers. Oh crap oh crap oh crap.’
“Anyone?!” he shouted, running faster. “Is anyone out there!!”
The hallway kept going, no matter how many times he turned.
11 Unread Messages
Shaw:
guess who just spilt a cocktail all over istvan ward
and smells like a rancid strawberry
jesus i wrecked the suit
Some other waiters are here they said i should get changed
headin to the lockers
(2:34am)
Dean: that sucks man
hang on a sec and lemme get rid of this tray and ill help you
just stay by the door
yo where r u?
shaw?
dude you didnt leave already did u?
dude dont go by yourself
Shaw?
dude this place doesn’t like strangers
SHAW
Answer me man
shit
shit shit shit shit